


A Life of Crime at Christmas

by Mullsandmutts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: AU, Christmas Fluff, M/M, sappy af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 15:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13149693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mullsandmutts/pseuds/Mullsandmutts
Summary: Jonny and Patrick fight over the last toy on Christmas Eve. Madness ensues.





	A Life of Crime at Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This was written entirely on my train ride home on Christmas and is nothing but ridiculous fluff. It has seen no other eyes and probably has countless errors that I will find tomorrow when I re-read it but I wanted to slap up a little Christmas surprise for 1988 fans so here goes. 
> 
> Dedicated to all but especially to the crew that makeup my circle of trust ;)
> 
> I hope everyone’s holidays have been blessed with joy and happiness. You are loved and appreciated!!!!

Okay. So in retrospect, it MAY have been a bit silly to get into a screaming match that rapidly devolved into a wrestling match with a stranger. And it may have been even worse that things quickly deteriorated into an embarrassing and awkward headlock by said stranger. All over a stupid toy at the mall. But Patrick refuses to acknowledge that bit of rationality as he licks at his split lip, unable to staunch the tiny trickle of blood what with the handcuffs that currently have his hands immobilized behind his back as he sits in the office of mall security, across a desk from a grumpy old mustache with a badge that reads Deputy Quenneville.

The only solace, Patrick thinks smugly, is that sitting in the chair next to him and bound in similar fashion sporting a fat lip of his own is the dark-haired shark-eyed stranger that was on the other end of the battle. Patrick can’t remember who jumped first and apparently neither did any witnesses so despite Shark Eyes’ outraged insistence that he was defending himself, they both get to spend Christmas Eve in the slammer. 

Patrick must have mumbled that last part out loud because Shark Eyes sighs heavily in disgust. 

“It’s a closet in the bowels of the Skokie Town and Country Mall.” Shark Eyes huffs. “I wouldn’t exactly call it Shawshank.”

Deputy Mustache twitches. The television behind him is showing Its A Wonderful Life and the plate of ham and potatoes and cookies next to him would indicate that their toy incident interrupted his peaceful dinner. He seems unamused. 

“Name,” Mustache demands, pen poised to fill out whatever paperwork is in front of him. He already filled out the form with Patrick’s info (because Patrick respects law enforcement and cooperated fully) so Patrick gets to sit back and watch this interaction with amusement. 

“I will cooperate fully once I am able to speak with my attorney,” Shark Eyes says politely but firmly. 

Patrick and Mustache look at each other and then look him up and down with similar distain. Well, disdain from Patrick. Mustache’s look may be described more as weary to be fair. 

“Shoulda known,” Patrick snorts, leaning down to itch his nose on the shoulder of his baller Christmas sweater. The movement causes one of the bells sewn onto the hat of the embroidered elf near his chest to jingle quietly. 

“Should have known what?” Shark Eyes asks, enunciating clearly and slowly to mock Patrick. 

“SHOULDA known that you were an elitist from your cashmere blend coat and shiny dress shoes,” Patrick rolls his eyes. Mustache lifts a brow and peers down under the table to look at the shoes. 

“And I SHOULD HAVE known that you were a street thug from your hideous sweater and douchebro backwards baseball cap. Let’s not even talk about the fact that the hat is for the Sabres.” Shark Eyes sneers. 

“Not sure about the thug part but he’s got you on the Sabres,” Mustache offers matter of factly, thumbing over his shoulder toward a Chicago Blackhawks championship plaque. 

“Yeah, Yeah,” Patrick mutters, well-versed in defending the honor of his childhood team. “We’re in a rebuilding phase.”

“For fifteen years?” Shark Eyes counters with a smug grin like he just delivered the world’s greatest burn. Even Mustache chuckles. Patrick feels betrayed. 

“Oh yeah?” Patrick counters hotly. “Big talk from a Jets fan.” Patrick nods toward the Winnipeg Jets socks peeking out from the dress shoes. 

“They were a gift,” Shark Eyes defends in a huff. 

“From someone who hates you apparently,” Patrick retorts. 

“From my mother,” Shark Eyes replies in outrage. 

“That seems about right,” Patrick smirks. 

“At least I’m wearing something because it’s a gift from a loved one,” Shark Eyes retorts. “I’m guessing no one was pointing a gun at your head when you pulled that hideous sweater on this morning.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, dipshit,” Patrick feels his face flushing and voice rising. 

“Even Father Christmas would be mortified by that ensemble,” Shark Eyes spits back and shoves his chest toward Patrick’s. 

“You wanna go, asshole?” Patrick shouts and tries to bump back at his chest, but is so much shorter that it lands more mid-rib cage. 

“Enough!” Mustache shouts. Patrick blinks up at the stranger, who blinks back equally, both sheepishly remembering where they are. Patrick pulls back sharply and slouches into the chair, cheeks flaming. What is it about this guy? Patrick tends to be easy going and friendly. But this guy pushes buttons Patrick never even knew he had. It’s astounding that even his sisters can’t rile him as much as this guy. And they’ve had years of practice. 

“Alright,” Mustache starts, any trace of humor gone. “Here’s how this is going to play out. You,” he points the pen at Patrick. “Are going to sit there and be quiet. I’ve already called your contact and he is on the way. And you,” he turns and points the pen at Shark Eyes, “are going to tell me your name so that I can fill out this stupid incident report, call someone to release you to, eat my dinner, close up this mall, and go the hell home to my family on Christmas Eve. Got it?”

“You’re not going to charge us?” Shark Eyes asks suspiciously. 

“What about this office indicates I have any kind of arrest powers?” Mustache asks sarcastically. “I’m mall security. I’m a retired high school hockey coach not Serpico. I’m not even allowed to carry pepper spray for fucks sakes.”

“But ... you ... we ... I ...” Shark Eyes sputters in outrage and Patrick gleefully watches the shades of purple that shift across his face. “You detained us. You HANDCUFFED us.”

“I am working this mall with three other guys,” Mustache says unapologetically. “One is a retired mechanic with a history of heart disease. One is a science teacher with asthma who works weekends for the discount. And the other is a twenty year old pot-head. I cuffed you for my safety, the safety of the other customers, and mostly, to keep you two morons from killing each other.”

Patrick nods. He gets it. This poor security guard was called to get in between two idiots almost in a fist fight over a stupid toy. On Christmas Eve for fuck sakes. The only grudge that Patrick holds towards the security guard is that he was forced to call Sharpy to come get him. But even the endless chirping from Sharpy that will result is far less terrifying than had Patrick been forced to call any of his family members. Shark Eyes, however, is unsurprisingly not as agreeable. 

“This is unacceptable and a violation of my rights,” he demands hotly. “You can expect a call from my attorney, as can your corporate office.”

“Well,” Mustache drawls, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. “You can do that. Absolutely. I can also do things. Like call the actual sheriff’s department to come pick up an individual that I detained who was assaulting customers and threatening mall security.”

“That’s extortion,” Shark Eyes is furious. He opens his mouth to launch into another tirade and Patrick has had it. 

“Shut your arrogant obnoxious mouth, dumbass!” Patrick shouts at the guy who at least appears surprised enough to snap his mouth shut. “This guy is just doing his job and trying to let us go without any further issue. Stop being a bossy asshole, apologize, and shut up so that we can both go home and so can he.”

Shark Eyes just stares at Patrick’s face and this is honestly the first time that they have looked directly at each other since the moment they both grabbed for the toy at the same time and all hell broke loose. Patrick’s eyes widen a bit. The dude is fucking HOT. He licks his lips nervously and Shark Eyes drops his gaze to track the movement and that’s .... huh. 

“I mean, okay?” Patrick offers a tentative smile. Shark Eyes blinks a few times and then his cheeks pink up kind of adorably and he drops his gaze. 

“Jonny,” Shark Eyes offers after a long moment of silence, not looking up at either Patrick or Mustache. “My name is Jonathan Toews.”

“Thank you, Mr. Toews,” Mustache says cheerily as he writes it down on the paper. Patrick catches Jonny sneaking another side-eyes glance at Patrick without lifting his head. Patrick can be obtuse but he knows interest when he sees it. Patrick rolls his eyes and knocks into Jonny’s knee, leaving it there against the warmth of his incredibly muscular thighs. He sees Jonny’s lips twitch as he fights back a grin. 

A knock at the door interrupts the moment and they both snap out of it as Mustache clambers out of his chair and opens the door. 

“Hello, my name is Patrick Sharp and I received a call about ....” Patrick hears Sharpy’s voice right before a tiny flurry of pink parka and blond hair flies into the room. 

“Uncle Patty!” Sharpy’s daughter barrels into Patrick’s chest, knocking him back into Jonny’s solid frame. He shivers when he feels Jonny’s startled breath brush across his ear. 

“Hey Mads,” Patrick straightens and sighs, embarrassed as she leans back and peers around his back to see why he’s not hugging her back.

“Daddy said you’re going to prison! He said that you’re too pretty for prison!” Madelyn’s eyes are accusing. 

“I’m not going to prison,” Patrick bites out and glares at Sharpy who is leaning against the door frame with an all knowing smirk on his face as he takes in Patrick and Jonny. 

“You’re handcuffed,” she says counters. “Handcuffs mean prison.”

“Or super fun grown up time with handsome strangers,” Sharpy offers in a skeezy tone and Mustache snorts. 

“You aren’t funny,” Patrick grits between clenched teeth. 

“I think he’s hilarious,” Mustache puts out a fist for Sharpy to bump. Patrick feels betrayed again. 

“Uncle Patty,” Madelyn reaches up and grabs his cheeks hard enough to make his eyes burn a little. “What did you do to have to go to prison? Did you MURDER someone?”

“You’re six,” Patrick says incredulously. “How do you even know what that means?”

“Law and Order,” she shrugs unconcernedly and then her eyes narrow on Jonny. She leans toward Patrick and whispers in the loudest not whisper ever. “Is he going to prison with you?”

“Only if Uncle Patty asks real nice,” Sharpy drawls. 

“I may go to prison for murder yet, Madelyn,” Patrick deadpans as he stares at Sharpy, trying to kill him with his eyes. 

“No one is going to prison,” Mustache sighs long sufferingly and walks over to unlock both Patrick and Jonny’s handcuffs. “Prison is way too much paperwork for Christmas Eve.” 

Patrick rubs at both of his newly-freed wrists, catches Jonny out of the corner of his eye doing the same thing. Jonny has been suspiciously quiet and Patrick can feel his own face flushing when he realizes that Jonny may be mortified by Sharpy’s implications. 

Patrick doesn’t get much time to be embarrassed though because Madelyn launches herself into his lap and hugs his neck tight enough that he momentarily wonders if he’s going to make it out of the room alive. She loosens her grip and leans back onto his lap, looking seriously into his eyes. 

“Why did you almost have to go to prison, Uncle Patty?” Her little face is serious. 

“I, uh,” Patrick stammers. 

“Because he and Jonny were fighting over the last one of these,” Mustache shows no remorse as he pulls the giant pink stuffed unicorn out from under his desk. 

Patrick cringes because Sharpy is going to have a field day. 

“Is that Estelle the Magic Unicorn?” Madelyn’s voice is an awed whisper. “I askeded Santa for that. And mommy and daddy. It’s the only thing I ever wanted in my whole life.” Her blue eyes are wide and trained on the unicorn with a hunger that is probably 75% real and 25% manipulation because she is after all Sharpy’s daughter. Noneth less, Patrick is a wimp when it comes to her eyes and he is reminded of why he fought Jonny in the first place. 

“Yeah I know,” Patrick answers with a sigh. “I was going to get him for you as a Christmas surprise and it was the last one but Jonny wanted it for ...” Patrick hesitates but Jonny smoothly moves in. 

“It was a misunderstanding,” Jonny offers, leaning down to meet Madelyn’s eyes and close enough that Patrick can smell the intoxicating scent of spearmint gum and Mrs. Meyers laundry soap in Jonny’s clothing. 

“It was, was it?” Mustache drawls and shares a knowing look with Sharpy. 

“It was,” Jonny nods. “See, I was going to buy that to donate to the kids at the hospital where I am a doctor. But I didn’t know that Uncle Patty was getting it for his very favorite girl. I can buy a different toy for the kids at the hospital. Uncle Patty can buy this one. I’m sorry there was confusion and that we caused all of this trouble.” Jonny turns his eyes to Patrick’s and seems so genuine and earnest that Patrick is suddenly grateful for Madelyn sitting on his knees because it keeps him from jumping Jonny right there in the security office. 

Madelyn’s face turns to Jonny’s and the adoration is clearly not coming just from Patrick. She climbs down slowly and walks over to stand in front of Jonny, eyes wide. 

“You were going to buy Estelle for the sick babies?” She asks in a hushed whisper. Jonny nods. 

“I was,” he smiles. “But there are lots of toys that I can buy for them. I think Estelle needs to go to the little girl that Uncle Patty was willing to give his life for.”

“It wasn’t like my life was ever in any actual danger from you,” Patrick mutters, defending his own sketchy honor. 

“Shut up, Patrick,” Mustache, Sharpy and Jonny all say in unison. 

Madelyn stares at Jonny for a moment. She turns and looks at Estelle for a longer moment. And then turns to her dad who smiles and winks. She walks over to the desk and grabs Estelle, who is actually almost as big as she is. She drags the unicorn back to Jonny and thrusts it forward in all its fuzzy pink glory. 

“Thank you Uncle Patty,” she smiles at over her shoulder at Patrick before turning back to Jonny. “But Mister Doctor Jonny should take Estelle to the sick babies,” she says seriously. “They deserve her. I can wait until my birthday if Santa doesn’t bring it tomorrow.”

Jonny’s face is probably amazing as it is overcome with emotion at her selfless gift but Patrick couldn’t tell you because his eyes are blurry with potential tears. He hears Sharpy and Mustache sniffle and clear their throats behind him so he knows he’s not alone in the feelings that Madelyn is causing in their grumpy old hearts. 

“That is a very brave and kind sacrifice, Miss Madelyn,” Jonny speaks seriously, sounding like some kind of knight or something. Then he smiles widely. “I have an idea. How about you and your daddy and Uncle Patty come with me to give Estelle to the babies yourself?” Madelyn looks back over her shoulder at her father who smiles proudly and nods. 

“It’s a deal,” she thrusts her hand out and shakes Jonny’s with all of the strength in her little arms. He laughs and catches Patrick’s eye. 

“If that’s okay with Uncle Patty, I mean,” Jonny smiles shyly. 

“Okay with him?” Sharpy snorts from the doorway. “Pretty sure he would marry you if you asked right now. I’m just grateful that he’s restraining himself from, uh, demonstrating how okay he is with it right now while we are all standing here.” 

“Is that right?” Jonny’s voice is low. Patrick would cringe at Sharpy’s behavior if not for the fact that Jonny’s Shark Eyes darken with a different and unmistakable look as Patrick licks at his lower lip again. 

“Wanna help me bury his body later?” Patrick whispers to Jonny as Madelyn and Estelle skip back to Sharpy’s side. 

“I should have known that meeting you would result in a life of crime,” Jonny winks the most horrific, awkward and somehow amazing wink ever. And Patrick had never had to fight such a shameful boner in his life. 

“Get them out of my office before I turn a hose on them,” Mustache orders Sharpy with a heavy sigh. 

“Come on, losers. We have Christmas-y things to do,” Sharpy drawls as hoists Madelyn and Estelle onto his hip. 

“Merry Christmas, boys,” Mustache snorts as he rips up the incident reports, grabs his plate, and settles back into his chair to finish Its A Wonderful Life.

Patrick probably doesn’t run into the doorframe staring at Jonny’s ass as he walks through. 

Probably. 

— the end —


End file.
